


On Mortal Wings

by ADashOfStarshine (ADashOfInsanity)



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Butterflies, Character Considers Death, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADashOfInsanity/pseuds/ADashOfStarshine
Summary: Surrounded by his vast collection of  butterflies, Vladimir considers the nature of mortality. More specifically, the mortality of a certain Grand General that has caught his eye.A story written for WaterSeraphim on AO3.
Relationships: Jericho Swain/Vladimir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	On Mortal Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WaterSeraphim](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterSeraphim/gifts).



Vladimir idly wandered his lepidopterarium, or as the maid had just called it, the “butterfly house”, before she passed him his afternoon cup of tea. Admittedly, this wasn’t his usual position to receive refreshment, thus the maid’s confusion. Yet he had left a note as to where he might be. Sometimes he fancied a splash of colour in an afternoon – to remove himself from the frankly drab Noxian stonework and enter a place explicitly designed for his private use. Of course, he had many of those, but none were quite as vibrant as the so-called “butterfly house”.

He sipped at his tea as an Ionian Paperwing fluttered overhead, landing on an outstretched frond of flowers and drinking its fill. Vladimir had travelled far and wide over his extensive lifetime and he liked to think he brought back a little piece of that place with him whenever precious cargo landed from abroad. It would not do to fill his opulent conservatory just with native species. No. Any bored noblewoman who fancied herself cultured could do that. There were species from every shore he’d manipulated over the centuries. He would import dozens of the insects, usually as caterpillars or chrysalises in the hopes they would survive the journey. Only a few ever did – such was the nature of these creatures. However, he was not a cruel master, at least not to these fragile beings. He brought their habitats with them, providing each with their native flora so they would grow and multiply – resulting in one of the most splendid greenhouses in all of Noxus. And if a species accidentally died out, well, once he had studied the originals, he could always create more. Even introduce a few ‘previously-unknown’ variations that survived much longer than their fellows. He had a whole team of staff just for this one jewel in his collection, horticulturalists from all over Runeterra. He knew many scholars would give their right hands to see a display such as this. On occasion, merely their blood had sufficed. 

A Shadow-tipped Royal landed on the bench beside Vladimir’s saucer. He raised his eyebrow at it as it explored the drops of tea remaining on the fine china. Tea certainly couldn’t be good for it, but who was he to prevent it from fluttering towards its inevitable demise? Butterflies were perhaps the most beautiful reminder of mortality Runeterra had to offer. Perhaps that was why he so enjoyed keeping them around. Here he could silently enjoy his own longevity without the constant chattering of humanity. If he wanted to listen to tawdry gossip about who was courting who in the Noxian high circles, he had years ahead of him for that. All that changed from centuries to centuries were the names and the fashion. That was the luxury of having countless years ahead of him. He could choose when to engage with the masses.

A loud clatter above interrupted him from his quiet contemplation. He looked upwards to see a solitary raven had landed on the glass roof of his greenhouse. It clicked around on the coloured panes, scrabbling for purchase before it found one of the outer metal supports. Vladimir watched this rather inelegant display until the raven found its perch. Once settled, it stared directly at him with beady eyes. Though you could blame the tinted glass for the phenomena, Vladimir was certain the raven’s eyes gleamed faintly red.

“Shoo,” he told the bird, waving a dismissive hand at it, “Does your master not recognise the sanctity of teatime?”

The raven didn’t move. Vladimir rolled his eyes at it before taking another sip of his tea. He knew simply ignoring the bird wouldn’t make it go away, but he worked at his own pace. Right now, he was drinking tea. The Grand-General could wait. The raven allowed him a few more sips of his rapidly-cooling beverage before it began to rap its beak against the glasswork. The glass was thick enough for it not to cause any damage, but the constant tap-tap-tap was growing ever-more irksome. It would do it all afternoon if provoked. Vladimir once had. The Grand General wished to see him, and apparently, he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Tell your master I will see him at six,” Vladimir told the bird, “He is most welcome to stay for dinner of course.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, then the raven was off. The sanctity of teatime thoroughly ruined; Vladimir got to his feet. He glanced back at the seat to discover that indeed, the Shadow-tipped Royal had drowned in the meagre amount of tea there. He flicked the dead butterfly into the nearest flowerbed. He didn’t need duplicates for study right now. Depositing his cup and saucer on a shelf by the greenhouse door, he located his nearest bell for the summoning of staff. Only two rings and he had one maid and one manservant joining him as he strode back towards his chambers.

“The Grand General will be visiting later this eve,” he instructed them, “And I will insist he stay for dinner. I will require a runner to be sent for the string quartet that performed at the Lady Beatrice’s soiree. If they are already booked offer them double the price, if that doesn’t work, triple it. This isn’t a choice. Tell the kitchens I expect to see the last of this year’s pomegranates throughout the courses. This is our nation’s mighty leader after all, spare no expense.”

“Milord, what if the Grand General doesn’t wish to stay for supper?” asked the manservant. What was his name? They tended to blend together after a few decades. Ah yes, Dreik was it?

“He will stay,” Vladimir stated, “Dreik, find the runner and the notify the kitchen staff. Rosemarie find Mrs Heatherlin and instruct her that I wish my court finery to be ready by five. That includes the corset this time. I can’t be seen stinking of mothballs.”

The maid curtseyed and the manservant bowed before hurrying off in their respective directions. Vladimir traversed two flights of stairs and ascended into his library. There was really no more fitting place for centuries worth of knowledge, both mundane and forbidden. The redwood bookshelves had been such an excellent investment, though the locals hadn’t been too pleased that their ancient trees would be felled. Vladimir on the other hand refused to be outlived by something as banal as a tree, so now they served his purposes. As all did in the end. 

“Class is over,” he instructed the acolytes milling around the library, “Please put away your research material. I can’t have anything scandalous laying about when the Grand General gets here. Take the rest of the day off, enjoy yourselves, let loose. Leave for today.”

He watched from atop a table as they packed up and departed, each giving him a small bow as they passed where he lounged atop an antique oak piece he’d had for goodness knows how many centuries. Content that they had scurried off with their papers, he sent in a troop of cleaners to negate any potential stray notes, before making his way further upstairs to his study.

“Milord?”

No sooner had he sat at his desk, than the same man-servant from earlier appeared.

“What is it?” Vladimir replied. He turned to see Dreik standing in the doorway with a tea tray in one hand a pomegranate in the other.

“The Cook wants to know whether you mean to use all the pomegranates,” Dreik reported, “She says we only have six left, besides this one, which is sort of off.”

He looked at the pomegranate in his hand.

Vladimir raised one hand out for the fruit. Dreik hurried over, gave it to him, before retreating back into the doorway at a sprint.

“Use all the pomegranates,” Vladimir instructed, “Tell the Cook she shall have more where these came from.”

He turned over the slightly bruised fruit in his hands. With a deep breath, he sought out the rot that he could sense within, ushering a little life back into the sorry produce.

“Now you have seven,” he declared, holding out the pomegranate for Dreik to return, “And tell the Cook I truly expect her best work. Good does not cut it, I require Exceptional.”

“Yes milord, of course milord!”

Vladimir inspected his hands, smelling faintly of pomegranate as he inspected the little dirt that had escaped to beneath his nails. Of course, you could not grow pomegranates in Noxus. The climate and the soil were all wrong. Yet, like his foreign butterflies, he deserved a wider variety of luxuries in his household. Besides, people still repeated the ancient folklore from Shurima that detailed pomegranates as powerful aphrodisiacs. Their exotic allure and picturing in foreign text meant that a single pomegranate was worth its weight in gold. However, when you commanded such control over life, one pomegranate, or several, was far less taxing than even a butterfly. They had so many seeds to use after all.

Sighing, Vladimir slipped off his greenhouse coat and opted for something more comfortable in the meanwhile. He had a few hours to himself now he had sent his students home for the day. Of course, he’d need some time to groom himself to his full majesty, but right now… Ugh, damn that general. Ruining a perfectly civil afternoon! He didn’t know why he went to so much effort really. Everything in his home was magnificent. He lived in a state ready to be visited by royalty. And as Noxus didn’t have that anymore, it was already prepared for a Grand-General instead. By his bird’s insistence, Vladimir had to assume that this wasn’t a casual check in on his welfare. The General was tantalisingly shrewd. He felt like every conversation with him was a game of cat and mouse, with each trying to see how deep the other’s secrets ran. Whilst it was certainly an inconvenience to have to pack up his followers every time the General grew near, he did so enjoy their conversations. Jericho Swain was not a stupid man. A little naive, in some areas, but certainly not unintelligent. To his own later bemusement, Vladimir found himself enjoying their talks on architecture and fine art, as much as he did their political jostling. There were so few people left these days that he enjoyed playing with, Le Blanc perhaps being the last bastion of being an excellent foil, but the Grand General was certainly a worthy consideration.

Perhaps that was why he went to all the effort? He didn’t just revive a pomegranate or entrap himself in a corset for any man. Well, he occasionally might, given the nature of the party, but the point stood. Jericho Swain drove him into action like no one had in far too long. He wanted to impress. To see that handsome yet grim face twitch into something resembling awe. Of course, Swain was far too well travelled to simply be wowed over by some exotic fruit and a string quartet, but it built atmosphere. One piece of a much larger, grander, puzzle. So much effort for one man! Vladimir glanced above his desk where a glass frame of his favourite butterfly specimens stood, many tiny pins glinting in the dim lighting. People weren’t that different to butterflies when you lived as long as he had. They were beautiful for a moment – a fleeting glimpse of all life’s wonder – before they drank too much and died. They perished in so many varied and interesting ways that perhaps the butterfly wasn’t the most fragile creature after all. The human body could be harmed in so many ways that perhaps it had the insect beat. It certainly bled better, that was for certain. Each night of revelry was a human’s flutter through life. Would they make it to the next or have their limbs severed by the nearest predator? Well, in this house, Vladimir was the one to decide. In Noxus proper? Well, he still had a significant say.

When Jericho Swain met his end however, it would not be by Vladimir’s hand. Indirectly perhaps, but he currently had no plans for the man’s demise. Yes, he had a few eyes at the general’s side. However, that was merely to make sure no one got to his Grand General before _he_ decided what to do about him. It certainly wasn’t to protect him, or check his welfare, or simply to hear news about him. That notion was preposterous! The fact was, no one should be touching Jericho Swain unless he had some say in it. With all these conniving nobles around, he had to be extra careful. Extra cautious about his new plaything’s mortality.

For, when all was said and done, Jericho Swain was mortal. He had survived many attempts on his life and certainly had taken more than his fair share. Soldiers, even veterans, in Noxus weren’t known for their long and storied lives. The Grand General was one of a very elite few. Surviving impossible odds time and time again, taking the city from a position of exile, it was all fascinating how this man had denied his inevitable death so often. Oh, what Vladimir would give to peel back that stern façade and see how that man ticked. What his mind might be like after facing his own mortality again and again. Yet he was forbidden from cutting into him too deep. It would be so inconvenient to have to fight for everything he’d built up over the centuries because Noxus’ leadership thought him a threat. Also, once again, he had no intentions of hurting him. Vladimir didn’t destroy his toys just because he fancied pulling at their stiches.

Yet over the last few years, Vladimir couldn’t help but notice the slight retreat of his hairline, the deepening of the lines on Swain’s brow. No matter what they endured, no one was immune to the passage of time. Well, no one except Vladimir and his loyal followers. If war or a spate of illness didn’t get to him first, then perhaps age would be Jericho Swain’s undoing. He would feel his past injuries more no doubt. Worse reflexes meant dodging assassins became harder. Worse senses were less likely to taste that hint of poison. The thought of it turned Vladimir’s mood foul. Such paltry inconveniences were so easily remedied. If he’d just be slightly more openminded then eternal youth could be all his. However, there was the little matter of exposing his circle to their greatest opposition in Noxus. Also, you couldn’t exactly force this sort of magic on an unwilling participant. Ugh, it was simply ludicrous! To let time take away such an interesting and promising man. Perhaps the unnatural magic he held would draw his lifespan out beyond his peers but, still, it would never be enough.

Annoying. It was truly annoying that one man could stir such a change in him. The man would see his head on a pike if he was convinced Vladimir meant ill for Noxus. His suspicion was obvious but that just made their interactions so much more pleasurable. Vladimir had always been guilty of playing with his food, and his beloved General was no exception. If Swain hated him so much, if he suspected him of such foul deeds, then why did he keep accepting Vladimir’s dinner invitations? Why did he turn up each time knowing that _dinner_ was never truly just dinner? Yes, they’d eat, drink and converse, all the usual pleasantries. But dinner at Vladimir’s was a whole night affair. Swain would say he should be going, make some comment about the level of light, but it was just another game by now. How many new paintings, fascinating old history books, or recovered ancient maps could Vladimir procure before he ran out of means to lure Swain into his chambers? Little did the Grand General know that his collection of old trinkets was endless.

Vladimir heard the door to his chambers open and glanced over his shoulder at the familiar sight of Mrs Heatherlin with his clothing for the evening.

“Leave them on the bed,” he ordered, “And send up a bath.”

She merely did as she was told and left. Vladimir frowned at the mirror stood on the shelf above his desk. It was stupid really. Ageless and perfect, he could have anyone he wanted, any time he wanted them. There would be a hundred more generals by the time he was bored of Noxus, if he ever was. Plenty of interesting faces, worthwhile conversation, and pleasurable evenings to be had, no matter who was in attendance. So why was he lusting after the one who could ruin it all? It felt utterly ridiculous to admit it, but he liked Jericho Swain. So many people had come and gone, seemingly in the blink of an eye. Except somehow, this one mortal man, had stuck. Maybe it was because he needed a challenge. It had been so long since he’d felt the thrill of danger in his dalliances. Yet even discussing ‘safe’ topics with him felt right. More natural than most of the life in this house. It was frankly absurd.

Vladimir got to his feet and crossed over to the tall four-poster which sat resplendent in the centre of his bedchamber. He picked up each garment left there in turn, toying with ties and steel eyelets, feeling the softness of imported silk and the sturdiness of homegrown leather. Instinctively, he took a deep breath as he picked up the corset, feeling the hardness of the whalebone within. Of course, he could shape himself however he wanted. However, there was the sheer appeal of it – the idea that you had dressed up, or that someone had dressed up for you. Even if the person you dressed up for might be dead in a matter of years or months. Yet, here he was, about to bathe and dress up for a fleeting lusty night with Noxus’ most imposing general. He was excited to continue playing this little game of theirs and intended to enjoy every second they had together. They were all butterflies really, showing off their beauty for the short time they had in this world. They lived for the moment because really, what was one life but a moment? Life, however long you lived, had to be about making the most of it. Rising, shining, showing off all that you have, displaying all that you are, before falling with mortal wings.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you enjoy Vladimir/Swain content and want to join an active discord community celebrating our favourite Noxians?  
> Look no further than the Vlain Discord server! [Click here to join! ](https://discord.gg/GNPWseD)  
> 


End file.
